


Daybreak

by Fallingtowardsoblivion



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Gwaine, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Blackouts, Depression, Drug Use, Happy Ending, M/M, Mainly Perwaine the Merthur is background, Patient Percival, Recreational Drug Use, Relationship Issues, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtowardsoblivion/pseuds/Fallingtowardsoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine consistently breaks and shatters, and Percival is left picking up the pieces. </p><p>One day, Gwaine dares to ask why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daybreak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ayantiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayantiel/gifts).



> Man, this came out much easier than expected. And it's much darker that I originally expected (though now that I think about it, what did I really expect when left to my own devises, lmfao). 
> 
> Heya Aya, I hope you enjoy this fic! Thanks for the prompt: Perwaine, no MCD. Mwahahah! 
> 
> (Also, this is unbeta'd, oops)

 

 

Gwaine was drunk again.

It was the same old song, a broken record stuck on repeat.

Sometimes he woke up in his bed, another arm slung over him, or maybe his arm slung over some bird. Sometimes he would wake up on a couch, the leftover beat of the music that had played the night previous ricocheting through his brain, mixing with the hung-over mess inside his skull.  

Most mornings he woke up in another's bed.

Those were the worst mornings, though Gwaine wasn't one to ever say it out loud.

Sometimes they would have roommates, sometimes they would have pets. Sometimes it was just a bachelor living alone. Those were the easiest to deal with. They never asked questions when Gwaine ran out, and they never offered breakfast.

Sometimes, there was a spouse. A girlfriend, a husband, a wife.

Those were the worst; Gwaine didn’t particularly like having to dress like the wind and run, preferred to linger for a bit. The hatred they held for him though, the random man who had show up in their spouse’s bed, was reasonable. Tolerable.

Deserved.

But it was fine, Gwaine would say, muttering it to himself in the bathroom as he took a guess at which toothbrush to use, as he hopped into his jeans and scrammed. It was fine, he would say into the phone when Arthur would call, or shakily type it after a quickie in the loo, hands trembling with alcohol and adrenaline, pressing send and hoping Merlin wouldn’t see right through his drunken farce.

It was fine, he would say, because Gwaine wasn't hurting anyone. The men and women he took home were fine, just fine – fit, great in bed usually, fast and unemotional.

The type he liked. The type he was automatically drawn to. The hunters, the predators, the men who scanned the crowd for a quick fuck, who came up and shoved a drink into your hand and began to grind.

That was Gwaine's type, because messing with those men, without the strings of emotion and caring and concern was just enough for him.

It didn't hurt anyone this way, it was better this way.

Or so Gwaine said.

 

***

 

Once in a blue moon, Gwaine would wake up in a cell. His face would be pressed against the bars, droll dripping from his ass-flavored mouth. It was those mornings that bothered Gwaine, those mornings that got to him. It was when he was dragged to the phone, processed and let loose after someone – _the_ one – came to bail him out for drunk and disorderly that really dug into his skin and left a mark.

Because gods, the look on Percy's face was heartbreaking.

Gwaine liked to think his heart was safe, that it was caged away, tucked into the back of his mind, hidden from the outside world. He liked to think the lock was in place, and that no one, nothing, could ever turn that key, pick that lock.

But it was a lie. A fucking lie.

Because Percival had managed – how, Gwaine would never know – to attach himself to Gwaine and dig his fucking claws in. And Gwaine was disgusted by it. Disgusted by _himself_.

Hell, Percy was his _roomie_. Had been for a couple of years now, ever since Gwaine dropped out of college and decided to take uni one class per semester, and Percy needed another renter.  Things had worked out, and that had been it. That had been _it_. Nothing romantic, nothing sexual.

Though no one had bothered to tell that the Gwaine’s stupid heart.

Somehow, Gwaine managed to pay rent most months. He barely managed to keep his odd jobs, and didn't have much that went to anything besides for booze and the occasional drug. But he did have an account – left by his long gone father – which he could dip into anytime. Not that he did. Or, well, he used to not. Nowadays it was different. Gwaine didn't like using the bastard's money, but the thought of Percival having to figure Gwaine's rent into his own budget every month was too much for the man to bear.

 

***

 

Percy was a quiet man. He didn't say much, though when he spoke to Gwaine his words always had meaning – carefully chosen, carefully spoken.  

And gods, the way he spoke when he _did_ speak, it was something to die for. It was something that just cracked Gwaine's defenses, picking at the pieces, leaving him raw.

And he loved it.

 

***

 

Gwaine sobbed, his stomach heaving as he emptied something that was 75 percent vodka and 25 percent bile into the loo, snot and blood running down his face to mix with the vomit. His drunken, bleary eyes startled, looking up and grasping around until they landed on the man who had touched him – carefully, of course. Lovingly, of course.

Percival waited, taking his hand back until Gwaine belatedly deflated, nodding. Then, carefully, ever carefully, aware of the new bruises on his roommate's body, Percival laid his hand back down on Gwaine's shoulder. Soon, he was rubbing comforting circles into it, moving his hand to massage his heaving back.

Bringing his other hand up, Percival carefully held Gwaine's hair out of his eyes, holding it back as the man threw up once more.

When the vomiting stopped, Percival sat there with Gwaine, watching as the man came down from his high, from his drunkenness. Waited, patiently and without any pressure; keeping the silence between the pair comfortable, tolerable. He kept a safe distance between them, not wanting to spook his roommate.

An hour, then two, then Gwaine was muttering something about cleaning up his bloody nose, and Percival nodded, immediately getting up to move to the sink, rummaging around for the first aid kit, giving Gwaine his space.

Finally, Gwaine broke the silence.

"Valiant and I are no longer... dating." Percival sucked in a soft breath, something that would've gone unnoticed if it wasn’t for the fact that he was inches from Gwaine's face, dabbing with rubbing alcohol at the scratch on his hairline.

"You want to report this?" He said quietly, finally, tossing away the cotton ball in favor of a bandage.

Gwaine swallowed, feeling his eyes begin to water from the sheer care behind Percival's stoic, unreadable expression.

"No," he choked out, whispered. "No. Dun wanna make anything of it..."

And Percival only nodded, his hand shaking slightly with rage. He stilled it soon enough, though, his jaw clinching.

Gwaine was none the wiser, instead consumed with his own personal hell.

After that incident, Gwaine stayed exclusive, and didn't date.

 

***

 

Percival always picked up the pieces. He knew where the first aid kit was and always kept it stocked. He knew that Gwaine was incapable of preparing food for himself and therefore quickly made a habit of cooking for two.

He knew Gwaine was suffering, and he was there… if only as a silent, strong body to cry on.

But Gwaine never cried.

He never would let himself give into such a pitiful low. It was pathetic, and Gwaine was fine, just fucking fine, so why would he bother?

_Why would anyone bother?_

Gwaine gulped down another mouthful of beer, feeling the tingly sensation of the pill he'd gotten from his most recent fuck – something pink and with a cartoon character's face stamped onto the front – and let his mind go numb.

_Who cared, anyway?_

He didn’t let his mind wander to Percival, who was probably sitting at the kitchen table, two plates of food set, waiting and waiting and waiting and finally, finally, around midnight, putting Gwaine’s plate into a carton, tucking it away into the fridge.

He didn’t let his mind wander, period. He couldn't afford to. Not like this.

Not like this.

 

***

 

Gwaine sighed, feeling the coffee he was drinking spread throughout his body, thrumming through his limbs and bringing his sore muscles back to life. 

Percival stood across the room, flipping pancakes in the kitchen.

It had been one of those nights. A night when Gwaine went out, got smashed, fucked some bloke in his car and hit on birds until one finally agreed to take him home. Gwaine had been mighty drunk by the time they started doing shots, and when he woke up at the crack of dawn next morning, head splitting open, suspicious white powder speared across his face and not a little bit drunk, he hadn't known who to call.

Except he _had_.

Percy had come by, cleaned him up, made him breakfast. Never speaking a word, unless it was of comfort.

Gwaine swallowed, looking at the hard lines of his roomie's body, at the way he easily prepared the morning's meal, at how clean shaven and _put together_ he was.

It made Gwaine stop, choking back his anxious, wandering mind.

 He threw back his cuppa, enjoying the bitter taste of the morning drink, enjoying the distraction.

He felt it was fitting.

Soon enough, a plate of steaming flapjacks was slid in front of Gwaine, making the hung-over man oddly hungry. Percy silently nodded to him, digging in respectively to his own meal.

Gwaine appreciated the silence, and dug in, in turn.

That is, until he didn't.

Because as he woke up, so did his mind. The thoughts he had been pushing aside for so long suddenly resurfaced, rearing their ugly heads, making Gwaine guilty and doubtful.

Percy always took care of him – why? Percy cleaned him up, dusted him off, picked up the pieces, glued together the mess. Percy saw right through his ‘I'm fine’s and ‘it's okay’s. He always was there, silently waiting for Gwaine to call on him, silently supporting him when he did.

 _Why_?

Gwaine had never done anything to deserve such treatment, such care and _consideration_.

Percy wasn't doing it out of duty – after all, those types tended to push and prod a person right towards therapy and possibly Jesus, never taking into consideration the mere notion of letting the person be, of letting them continue whatever... whatever it was that they were _doing_.

Yet Percy did. He left Gwaine to himself, only listening if the man wanted to talk. Never pushing, never pushing.

Otherwise, he only stood silent vigil over Gwaine. A keeper, a guardian.

A damn good _friend_.

And that, _that_ was what got Gwaine, making his stomach roil uncomfortably with guilt. Percival was a good friend, and fuck it if Gwaine had ever done anything to deserve _that_.

 

***

 

The silence became deafening, beating at the edges of Gwaine's consciousness, making his hand tremble as he lifted the fork to his mouth. His eating slowed, though if Percy noticed the change of pace, he didn't say anything.

Though of course, he never did... not unless it _needed_ to be said.

Finally, it became too much and Gwaine slammed his fork down on the table, making a bit of water slosh out of his glass.

Percy was unphased, merely looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

"Well?"

Gwaine swallowed, not really sure what to say, not really sure how to wave away the constricting silence.

So he just took a breath and sucked it in and _let it out._

" _Why_? Why are you like this?" It came out a bit rushed, a bit condensed and tumbled, like a mixed drink, like a stumbling figure. "Why do you care about what happens to me? I don't deserve shit from you."

And it was out in the open now, permeating the awkward silence, lightening the load. Percival looked at him, even and steady. _Grounding_.

Gwaine felt a bit foolish, but jutted out his chin and did as he always had – faked his confidence.

"You really don't see it, do you?" The words were quiet, and it made Gwaine's heart skip a beat.

"See what?" He barely whispered it, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

"See _you_ ," Percival answered, his voice strong and meaningful and laden with emotions that Gwaine hadn’t thought could be packaged away into two little words. And _gods_ , that man was looking at him like he was the world, and Gwaine couldn’t help but feel like he was letting him down, like he was letting _everyone down._

"S - see me?"

Percy nodded, lowering his head, dipping it as he took a drink from his own coffee.

Gwaine sat there, waiting for an explanation. None came, as Percival went back to his meal.

He ate like nothing happened.

After a while, Gwaine did too.

 

***

 

It took another month before Gwaine dared bring up the question nagging at him.

A month of drinking, fucking, snorting shit he didn't know the name of and partially hoping for, partially hating the thought of coming down from his highs.

He was drunk, falling over, when he put his head on Percival's shoulder, leaning back into his warm body, letting himself for once get lost in the touch of his – of his _friend_.

Merlin was getting worried. Gwaine never texted back anymore, but Percy talked to him, apparently, keeping Gwaine's once best friend in touch.

Arthur called a couple times, feeling some runoff anxiety from Merlin.

Gwaine never picked up.

He didn’t need to.

Merlin and Arthur, they had each other. Just like Gwen and Morgana, just like Leon and Elyan. Just like everyone under the sun and then some, except for _Gwaine_.

He had no one at the end of the day, and it fucking sucked. It dragged at him, bringing out dark emotions, brooding and anger and _sadness_ , which he didn’t know he had. Which he didn’t know could possess him.

Gwaine sighed, leaning back into the warmth of Percival's body fully, reveling into the feeling of arms wrapped around him. Faintly, it connected in his brain that they were on the couch, that Percival was _holding_ him.

But Gwaine didn’t care, didn’t want to let the dream break, didn’t want it to end. Not if he could help it.

He just needed the dream to last a moment longer. Even if the embrace meant nothing, only simple comforts.

A moment longer, and then he would pack up, he would leave. No longer be a burden, no longer sleep in strangers' beds and constantly wash spilled drinks out of his clothing.

No longer would Percival have to pick up after him. Have to pick him up.

"You have me."

The words were quiet, cutting through the silence of the flat, making Gwaine, even in his drunken state, stiffen and swallow. Suddenly, even drunk and high and on gods knew what, the thought of staying in such an inappropriate position made him faintly sick.

He had been speaking out loud.

Percival only held on tighter, though, not making the hug any less platonic, but also not letting go.

Gwaine eventually relaxed again, closing his eyes as he let his head once again drop to rest on Percival's chest.

A moment later, and he murmured, "Why do you do it?"

Percival stiffened a bit, barely recognizable, underneath Gwaine. He didn't mind, though. Nothing mattered. Well, maybe the warmth of Percival's body. Maybe _Percival_ mattered...

"Because you are worth it," the words were soft, and Gwaine faintly wondered if he was dreaming. "You are worth every moment. Never forget that."

Gwaine felt tears, unwanted, unneeded, fucking _obnoxious_ , pricking at the edge of his eyes. Ignoring them, ignoring the conversation that had just transpired (if that could even be called a conversation) Gwaine instead turned around, tucking himself further into Percival and went to sleep.

 

***

 

Dawn brought a brilliant sunlight shining in through the cracks in their kitchen curtains, revealing in the new light a tangled pair of bodies, set of limbs.

Gwaine woke up first, watching Percival sleep for a bit, suddenly filled with an incomprehensible ache for such intimacy with the other man – and even more – someday.

 

***

 

It was that day, under the clear blue daybreak, feeling the warmth of the man he loved underneath him, when Gwaine came to a realization. It dawned on him, breaking like the sun over the horizon, the stars through a cloud cover.

 

***

 

The next day, he came home sober.

Percival smiled at it, the smile turning into a grin when Gwaine lifted a bag of takeout, holding a rose in his hand.

From then on, it was history.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading. Also Aya, there is no MCD so puh, shoulda watched your wording!


End file.
